


Massively Multiplayer

by inkwellAnomaly



Series: Gudnatia.NET [2]
Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Character Death, Character Study, Ficlet Collection, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Interactive Fiction, M/M, Medical Procedures, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 00:05:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17632340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwellAnomaly/pseuds/inkwellAnomaly
Summary: A collection of ficlets set in the continuity ofThe Clinic, my Second Period fanfic.





	1. Then and Now

The Third Period had been saved. Allen and Riliane had enacted a Re_birthday; the Fourth Period would soon be created. However, there was one more thing left to do.

As Behemo walked through the familiar walls of the Climb One, anxiety wracked his heart. What would they say? Did they have anything to say to him at all? Maybe holding this impromptu reunion of the earthlings had been a bad idea.

He resisted the temptation to switch on his x-ray vision and look at everyone’s through the door of the main hall. No, he had to face them.

As soon as he entered through the door, a confetti gun burst out, fired by none other than TALOS.

Inside the hall were his co-workers, his family. Rahab rushed forward and pulled him into an embrace, ranting about how they had barely missed each other in Enbizaka. Levia, now freed from the doll, gave him a nod before looking away, mumbling about something in her eye.

Held came forward, putting his hand on Behemo’s shoulder.

“Welcome back.”

“It’s nice to be back, boss. I mean, boss-sama-sensei-chan,” Behemo said as a bittersweet feeling took over him.

“Behe-chan! We have so much to catch up on!” shouted Vlad from the back.

“And you still owe me fifty-five Gudnatiabucks from a millennium ago, you bugger!” chided Salem.

Amidst all the festivities, Behemo searched for that one special person.

A man in a letterman jacket stepped forward.

“Hey dude,” Phaser said.

“Hey yourself,” Behemo replied. He pulled him into a kiss.

“I’ll see you in my room tonight,” Phaser said teasingly.

“You can count on it,” Behemo winked.

“Ugh!! You guys are so gross! Get a room, will ya!” Marie shouted from nearby.

“I missed you too, Marie.”

“As if!” Marie said, clearly holding back tears.

Soon, it was Gilles’ turn to step forward.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he began.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Behemo replied. “I’m just glad everyone’s back together.”

In a corner, Eater awkwardly waved hello before returning to his conversation with Lich. Beside them were Michaela and Gumillia, chatting away and catching each other up on the latest gossip ever since the world ended.

A notification popped up, causing Behemo to check his phone.

 

_ It’s best if I don’t show up. Might stir up some bad memories. _

_ Regards, _

_ Seth-chan _

 

Behemo wiped away the tears on his cheeks as he saw the door open. Standing there, regal and radiant as ever, was the woman who started it all.

He went up to her and pulled her into an embrace.

“How I’ve missed you, dearie.” Luna said.

After over a millennium, Behemo, at long last, felt all his worries melt away.


	2. The Gudnatia Gossiper, 61st edition

Millennia V. Yggdra, age 16, passed away peacefully on Wednesday, September 10, XX97 at St. Mark’s Hospital. She was born August 31, XX81 in Moscow, to Held and Sophia (Vidar) Yggdra. From a young age, Millennia displayed a knack for writing, publishing her first story, “The Sorceress and the Forest”, when she was ten years old. She began attending high school at the age of twelve, where she became captain of the debate club. Millennia was enrolled at the University of Moscow last year, majoring in Philosophy. Left to honor Millennia are her parents and extended family. Millennia will be remembered as a bright, young mind who lived life to the fullest and brought joy and laughter to everyone around her. Funeral services will be held on Tuesday, October 14, at Our Lady of Mercy Parish, 39 Schwarz Rd., Moscow. The family would like to request that guests bring yellow marigolds to the ceremony, as they were Millennia’s favorite.


	3. Dolls

As Ava Lovestring knocks on the door to her young master’s room, she tries to shake the thoughts of her sick mother out of her mind. She counts and then recounts her savings in her head - just one more paycheck, and then she can afford to pay for her mother’s next round of medical exams.

Just one more paycheck. And then, this farce of a job will be a little more tolerable.

Her job title is “maid”, but her actual duties aren’t limited to cooking and cleaning. She’s young, pretty like a doll - exactly why her employer,  _ the  _ Dr. Bovini Barisol, hired her.

To be his son’s “girlfriend” and set him straight - that was what her job entailed.

Upon their first meeting, Behemo is nice enough. Right after they exchanged names, he immediately began rambling about his interests - RPGs, fantasy novels, tabletop games - before suddenly quieting down, then apologizing.

_ He doesn’t get out much,  _ Ava notes. She marvels at the contents of his room - computer modules, thick fantasy tomes, sewing supplies, bags of multi-colored dice, suits of armor, cardboard weapons, video-game consoles, medical tools, life-sized dolls (although they’re closer to mannequins). She puts her hand to one, and immediately draws back.

It’s warm. Perhaps a bit too lifelike.

Two weeks in, Ava finds herself holding hands, kissing, going on “dates” with him within the mansion.  _ For Mom _ , Ava keeps repeating to herself.

The first time Ava forgets to knock, she finds herself staring at him - he’s wearing his dead mother’s dress, in the middle of applying lipstick. She promises not to tell his father, but she does anyway. She’s loyal to him, not Behemo. After all, he’s the one paying her salary.

“Hey,” Behemo says one day. They’re in bed, holding hands. They’ve been “dating” for almost a month now. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” Ava says.

“I know why Dad hired you. And I’m tired of pretending,” Behemo begins. “You can leave now.”

Ava stares at him, not knowing what to say.

“Before you do, though, I’d like to make a request.”

“What is it?”

“Let me wear your clothes.”

“...”

“I like to remember people by wearing their clothes. Call it a weird habit of mine.”

“That’s disgusting,” Ava finally manages to spit out.

She puts on her clothes, and marches right out the door. She goes to her quarters, takes one of her uniforms, and irons it. She then takes it back to Behemo’s bedroom.

Two days later, Ava finds herself looking down at her bloodstained hands, clutching a knife. She hadn’t expected the mannequins, warm to the touch as they were, to have blood in them.

All the better, she tells herself. She’s here to make a mess.

The text from the hospital had said it all.

If only Bovini hadn’t fired her. Was it her fault she’d failed at her “job”? She was sick of it. Sick of it to her core.

All her work, all her saving up, had been for nothing. Her mother was dead.

Ava stabs another mannequin, and tips over the adjacent bookcase. She stabs it, again and again, letting out all her frustration and sorrow.

“What are you doing?!” Behemo shouts, making her jump.

“I’m done,” Ava says. “I am  _ done.” _

She gets up on the windowsill, and stares down. She’s tired and sad and all alone. She’s at her limit, and she has had enough.  _ She can’t take it anymore. _

The world, Ava notes, looks nice from four floors up.


	4. You and I

When everything ends, I’ll bring you flowers.

You and I are no good for each other. Or perhaps we are. It’s so hard to tell the two apart. At least, when it comes to you. You, whose voice I still hear. Whose golden curls I can still feel on my fingers. You, whose name is etched into my mind, no matter how many times I try to erase it.

What are we, anyway?

I bring you flowers, time and time again. But you leave them to rot. We have our fights, our oh-so-petty fights, and then make up. Then we hound each other, inseparable, unfettered, unbound; the blood and the sweat mix together, and in all the purple I can’t tell your body from mine anymore. I drown in your ocean; I can’t breathe, and for some reason that’s alright.

Of course, this is all until the passion cools. The veil is parted, and after that, we once again go our separate ways. Objects in flux, bodies in motion, colliding and exploding before the forces of the universe tear them apart again. Is this fate? Or is this just a force of the heavens? Is what binds us also what separates us? An atom breaks, and destruction is unleashed; our bond breaks, and the world is destroyed twofold.

Tell me, my darling, has anyone ever told you of the galaxies in your eyes?

The old record plays. One cannot waltz without a partner. Right foot, left foot. Then, left foot again. We keep in time with the music, swaying in perfect rhythm. You hum as you place your hand on my shoulder, and once again I’m taken by your siren song. You smile at me, another confusing sign, leaving me dizzy and aching and wondering what you’re trying to say. Perhaps you’re not saying anything. You give me a stare, and drive a poisoned blade into my chest, directly into my heart. The music begins to swell, and in all the thoughts and colors and mayhem I try to put my mind to order, but fail.

Come, shall we dance?


	5. To Anita

My dear Anita,

Or is it Eater now? Forgive me, for I am an old woman stuck in her ways. I am sorry for the times when I did not accept your new name. Whether you are Anita or Ita or Eater, know that I love you with all my heart.

If you are reading this, it means that I am gone. I leave the family restaurant to you. _Why me_ , you may ask. My dear, it is simple - I know that you are a wonderful cook. Many cooks know their recipes, but you cook from the heart. Everything you cook, you cook with love, and I could not be prouder than I am now. I know you have been meaning to open your own restaurant, but I thought it would be special if I gave it to you. Our humble restaurant will grow, I am sure of it. I know that you will carry on my work.

And even if you do not, I will still be proud. Always remember that. You can sell the restaurant, you can renovate it, you can even tear it down. I’ve heard you talk about your dreams, of finally leaving this town and entering the world of “ultimate cookery” - well, I only wish you the best. I know you can do it.

Whenever you think of me, do not be sad. I will be in the sauce that you simmer, the vegetables you chop, the salt that you season with. I will be with you whenever you cook. I will be with you when the soup tastes just right, when the chicken turns golden brown, when the bread comes fresh out of the oven. I will be with you. I will always be with you.

You don’t need me to guide you anymore - you have my recipes. From a quiet, little child who would cry whenever I would chop onions, you’ve grown into a mature and well-respected cook. I’ll say it again: I am so, so proud of you, and I will always be grateful that I had the chance to become your grandmother.

Take your love for me and spread it around. Love people through your food, Eater.

Sincerely,  
Grandmama


	6. Unaccounted For

Money makes the world go round.

Money is the key to success, the best lawyer in Hell. It leads to information, leads to “friends”, to opportunities.

Perhaps the boy wanted love. Or maybe he wanted affirmation. It’s difficult to say for sure.

In any case, the boy had something he wanted. And in order to achieve that something, he needed money.

Money to pay the bills. Money to bargain with, to negotiate deals. Money to curry favor with important people. Money to make his world go round.

And yet, he met her.

She was a wrench in his well-oiled machine. An unknown, a black box, a variable unaccounted for.

She was not part of the plan. The plan was to get rich, to be secure, to finally, finally find true happiness. Because where does happiness lie other than in money?

He didn’t plan on falling in love, but he did.

Olivia Sterling was Gudnatia’s top stock broker. He needed her for her money and information. And yet, somewhere along the way, he found himself staring into long, savoring their conversations. Business meetings became dates over coffee.

As the wedding bells tolled, the boy-at-heart reoriented himself. He still had that dream. The boy-at-heart once again embraced his ambition - to become a billionaire, the likes that Gudnatia had never seen. He would finally prove to his parents that he’d make something of himself. That he wasn’t a useless heir squandering their money. That he didn’t need them and their stupid trust fund.

His wife - he really did love her, but she was also useful. After all, those who controlled information controlled the world. Those who controlled the world gained money. Money, money, money. Money makes the world go round.

Eventually, she put her foot down. She’d had enough. All those hollow, meaningless gifts - they were mere expenses, investments to string her along. And, deep in his heart, the boy-at-heart knew that she was right.

He got what he wanted, in the end. She left, removing the wrench from his well-oiled machine. And yet, when she did, she took a piece of him with her. The boy-at-heart was at a loss. He’d never incurred an expense so large.

So he threw himself into his work. He invested in a friend’s clinic, and became its fund manager. Anything to distract himself. Because she was gone, she was utterly, truly gone. Not so much as a note.

The boy-at-heart sighed, and came home to his one-bedroom apartment. He’s a man of numbers, and he knows it’s just right for the solitary him.

At his small, small kitchen table, he prepares tea for one.

 


	7. She Remembers, and She Waits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marie slowly but surely loses her memory.

She is the one who waits.

She waits out the nights, days, and twilights. She greets each rising sun with melancholy, waiting for the arrival of her other half. Her mirror image, her significance of existence, the servant to her princess. He who mattered most to her, he who was gone.

She unfolds a colorless map of the universe, wondering where and who she is. She goes South, North, and South again, wandering back and forth. She becomes lost. That’s all she is, she thinks. Some lost, frightened little girl. All alone in the darkness, just like the sun. She casts a message in a bottle out into the void, asking where her brother is. The response she keeps waiting for will surely never come.

She isn’t supposed to remember, but she does. She remembers, and she waits. All those quiet afternoons with him - she’d give anything to go back to that time. Even then, however, she recalls the various sins she piled upon herself, only knowing her crimes once everything was already over. If only she hadn’t been so selfish. If only she had cherished her time with him. If only, if only, if only.

But the night has risen, and she is alone once again.

She remembers, and she waits. She recalls his face over and over again, but even then she can feel his memory ebbing from her mind. It recedes into the depths, and she calls out to him. She screams, asking where he is. Why he won’t come to her. That she just wants to see him again. The sun is setting, and in some prank of the twilight she can’t even recall his name.


	8. Second Best

I’ll always be second best, won’t I?

Just admit it. You love her more than you love me. How could you not, when she’s so _perfect_ and _cute_ and _oh-so-wonderful_.

I was always your achievement mill. “Oh, I’m so proud of you!” Bullshit. All you cared about was showing me off like some _prize_ , some trophy - and the worst part is, I actually played along with it. I worked myself to the bone, studying and reviewing and working. I did everything I was supposed to do. I did everything for _you_ , to please _you_. I got the highest grades in the entire school. And it _still_ wasn’t enough. It was never enough for you. It was always, “your grades were higher last semester!” or “you should have started studying earlier”. All those accolades, those awards, they were never enough. I am the fucking _authority on artificial life_ and it’s still not enough.

Oh, “Michaela” gets an internship at Held’s clinic? Suddenly you're fawning all over her like it’s the best thing in the world. Where was the party when _I_ made the first human body from scratch, huh? Where? It’s always Michaela this, Michaela that. Well, I’m sick of it.

Don’t call me “Richard”. What a stupid name. It’s _stupid_ , because you gave it to me. It’s stupid just like you. My name’s _Lich_. L-I-C-H. _Dark Butler of the Undead_. Get it right. Honestly I am so so _so_ tired of your shit right now I could just puke. Stop talking to me. Stop telling me you love me. You’re a liar. You’re a fucking liar, and you know it.

I’m a troublemaker, sure. It’s fun. I do what I do. I like pranks. Of course, you would never understand. Always too busy laughing at Michaela’s jokes, but not my pranks. You never loved me. Not even a little. Just admit it, Mom. Just admit it.

...Well, the cemetery’s closing soon. Guess I’ll be on my way.

Rest easy, bitch.


	9. Looking Glass

“...You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not,” Levia said, downing another one. The two of them were at one of the quieter bars in Moscow; Behemo knew Levia wasn’t one for big parties, and so as the office celebration of their joint birthday was winding down he offered that they get drinks, just the two of them. Despite her initial refusal, Behemo knew Levia, for all her abstinence, loved alcohol as much as her mother. She just had better self-control, she always said. It was always about being better than Rahab.

“Some party at the clinic, huh?” Behemo began.

“I suppose. Although, I didn’t need to see Salem throwing up like that.”

“Hahaha. Well, that’s one of the tamer parties I’ve been to.”

“...You’re really a wild child. We should’ve just switched places, honestly - you get along with Mom better than I do.”

“Most people do, anyway.” Behemo chided. “I’m sure you’d get along great with my dad.”

“...Why, what was he like?” Levia asked, curious.

“A real stick in the mud. Like you! Always pressuring me to get better grades, stay on top of my schoolwork, uphold the Barisol name, blablabla. He would’ve loved you.”

“I’m sure he loved you too.”

“That’s debatable, honestly.”

“Hmm, it seems our parental problems would be solved if you and I were just switched realities.”

“Pffft. Don’t go all psychoanalytical with me, Sis.”

“Whatever,” Levia brushed off.

“I’m curious,” Behemo said. “While we’re on the subject of parents, what was Rahab like when you were growing up?”

“I don’t mean to exaggerate, but she was the worst. Always drinking up a storm at home or out with some guy. Some mom she was.”

“Hahaha. Meanwhile my dad was always up in my face. Always in my room, always checking up on me, watching me like a hawk. You could say he was there for me? Even if I didn’t even want him to be. All I wanted him to do was leave me alone.”

“Wow. What a dilemma,” Levia said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No matter what I did,” Behemo began. “I could never please him. Eventually I gave up. I stopped caring. There was no use trying to impress him.”

“I’ll drink to that, haha. You know, I feel like I tried so hard in school when I was a kid because I wanted Mom to notice me. I mean, she did, but I could tell she was just humoring me. I don’t know, the words always felt so hollow.”

“...And so you pressured yourself? Hahaha. How come you ended up working at the same place as her, anyway?”

“I don’t know. I guess… part of me didn’t want to leave. Part of me didn’t want her alone here, either. She’s always had her men, but for the most part it’s only been just the two of us. Gilles only came into the picture a few years ago.”

“Do you think of Gilles as your dad?” Behemo inquired.

“Nah. He’s more like my groovy uncle.”

“Guess that means you’re cousins with Marie.”

“Eugh, don’t even say that. Imagine, being actually related to that little bitch. Yikes.”

“Hahaha, same.”

“What about your dad?” Levia asked. “Did you ever try to get him off your back?”

“Maybe just by avoiding him, haha. There were a lot of rooms in our mansion, so I’d just make myself scarce whenever he was home. He was rarely home, being a big-shot doctor or whatever, but whenever he was, he’d always be all in my face. It was tiring.”

“...”

Behemo continued to ramble.

“I mean, the crossdressing started out as me wanting to remember my mom. I told you about this before, didn’t I?”

“Elephanta, yeah.”

“So yeah. I’d wear her clothes to remember her. That’s kind of a thing I do - wear people’s clothes to remember them. When my mom died, I’d wear her clothes. And then I realized, hey, girl’s clothes fit me better! So I started wearing them all the time.”

“How did your dad react to all that?”

“Ugh, he was insufferable. Wow, big word. Anyway, he was super against it. Even hired a maid to be my ‘girlfriend’. God.”

“That’s... messed up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. But if you don’t mind, I really don’t want to rehash why I wear Ava’s clothes. Plus, we’re kinda talking about our parents here.”

“Agreed.”

“If I were to speculate a bit, I guess part of me also wanted to rebel. Dad wanted me to be a man’s man, someone worthy to carry the Barisol name. I didn’t want any of that. So I kept at my guns and continued my crossdressing.”

“Wow, your dad sounds like a real piece of work.”

“He kinda was. I’m so glad I got away from all that,” Behemo sighed.

“Do you ever... miss your Earth?”

Behemo looked down at his maid outfit - the last thing he owned from that world. He thought of Ava, of his father, of his ultimate plan to bring the avatars to reality.

“Nope, not one bit,” he lied.


	10. T/N: Keikaku Means Project

You come around a corner, away from the noise of the lab.

There is only one experiment. He stands in the spotlight, with his back to you: a sweep of dark hair on pale skin, a column of white polyester that ends at his knees. He might be the megane in a moe anime; the shut-in at a convention; one of the scientists at this very lab, standing on an empty platform in some ironic act of scientific abomination --

You hesitate, about to turn away. His mouth twists into a smile.

"They told me you were coming, desu."

**The Laboratory's End**  
Unlit, except for the single spotlight; unfurnished, except for the defining swath of gray tarp. And a placard on a little stand.

On the platform is Seth.

`| >"desu"`

He turns toward you, all enthusiastic. "Yes, desu. Desu is a sentence enhancer."

`| >x self`

You're wearing casual clothing, for a change. No use in donning the robes now that you're no longer a judge.

`| >retrieve arms`

You don't carry any armaments. Although you probably should, considering that 'HER' has been spreading lately. You never know when you'll get attacked by a 'deviant'.

`| >fart`

You can't really do that voluntarily.

`| >die`

Oh, you'd love to. But you can't. You have unfinished work to do. You've already made so much progress, with the Black Box Type E. Seth helped you make it.

The eradication of HER from the populace - that is your mission.

`| >alternately beat seth unconscious`

In a fit of rage, you swing your fist at Seth. He dodges it, and punches you in turn, knocking you out cold.

**The Laboratory's End**  
Unlit, except for the single spotlight; unfurnished, except for the defining swath of gray tarp. And a placard on a little stand.

On the platform is Seth.

`| >is seth vaccinated?`

"That's kind of rude, desu! You haven't even introduced yourself. Why should I tell you if I'm vaccinated?? Maybe you're the one who's unvaccinated!!"

`| >are we vaccinated?`

Of course. You're not an interdisciplinary biologist for nothing.

`| >Absorb seth and become the embodiment of all the world's evil itself`

You don't really know how that works. Evil - HERs are theorized to be carriers of the Malice gene. But that's all speculation.

`| >im vaccinated, check my vaccination scars,`

You pull up your sleeves, telling Seth to look at them.

"No scars! You're unvaccinated!!!!"

...You remember that injections don't leave scars.

`| >they can if u fuck up bad enough`

You say so.

"Not believing you. Unvaccinated!!!"

`| >get vaccinated again`

You don't want to do that.

`| >vaccinate seth`

Can't be too careful.

You pull out a syringe and grab Seth's arm, stabbing the syringe into it. He screams.

"AAAAAAアアアアア!!!"

`| >lets go get vaccinated together seth, besties day out`

After pulling the syringe out, you inject it into your own arm in a fit of stupidity.

Seth's reeling. So are you.

You black out.

**The Laboratory's End**  
Unlit, except for the single spotlight; unfurnished, except for the defining swath of gray tarp. And a placard on a little stand.

On the platform is Seth.

`| >examine placard`

You read the placard.

_Experiment No. 47_

_Final trial. Supervising scientist: Professor Richard Arklow._

_Still gaining sentience. Memories are noticeably fragmented. Proceed with caution._

`| >am i richard?`

You are most certainly not Richard. Lich, as he likes to be called, is your student.

Your name is Held Yggdra.

`| >make like a tree and leaf`

You say goodbye.

"Sayonara."

**The Laboratory's End**  
Unlit, except for the single spotlight; unfurnished, except for the defining swath of gray tarp. And a placard on a little stand.

On the platform is Seth.

`| >do i like to hold things? Am i capable of holding things in the present tense when my name is held`

You wonder aloud those things. You were a Philosophy major so long ago.

"Ehhh, nani?!! I don't know any of that!! You're so boring, mysterious person. You should either get interesting, or leave! I don't have time for this!"

`| >i would leave but ive already done that  
| >hhhh`

You crack a joke.

"That's not really funny. But I'll give you a 5/10 for effort!!"

`| >ya like jazz?`

You ask him, the way a flirtatious bee would ask a florist. What a weird, hypothetical scenario.

"I... I like rap better. Do you know hypmic?"

`| >go feral`  
`| >bite seth`  
`| >go crazy AAAAA go stupid AAAAAA`

You bite him. He bites back! Aaaaaaaa

You eventually faint from all this moving around.

**The Laboratory's End**  
Unlit, except for the single spotlight; unfurnished, except for the defining swath of gray tarp. And a placard on a little stand.

On the platform is Seth.

`| >inventory`

Your pockets are empty save for your cellphone and your wallet.

You open up your wallet, and inside is a family picture. You, your wife, and your daughter Millennia.

Good times.

`| >x cellphone`

It's just a regular phone. You remind yourself to erase your work contacts, since you've quit the Dwarf Star Bureau. That leaves just Gilles and Luna as your friends.

`| >present family picture to seth`

"Is that your family? They look kawaii. Especially the girl!"

He... doesn't seem to remember. All those sleepless nights, working on the Type E to save her.

`| >eat picture`

Before you can, Seth snatches it from your hands.

"This is obviously special! I can't let you eat it!!"

He then eats it himself.

`| >suplex him`

You try to imitate the wrestling you see on television, and suplex him.

You end up slipping, bringing yourself down with him. You hit your head, and black out.

**The Laboratory's End**  
Unlit, except for the single spotlight; unfurnished, except for the defining swath of gray tarp. And a placard on a little stand.

On the platform is Seth.

`| >so who's your best boy`

You ask him about hypmic, trying to jog his memory. You remember all those endless rambles he had about whatever that was. Youngsters these days with their hypnotic microphones.

"Jakurai!! Obviously. He's the best one."

`| >are you jared, 19?`

He seems to remember. More memes.

"I can't read, suddenly," he says, pulling out some shades and wearing them.

`| >does the road work ahead?`

"I sure hope it does!!"

`| >were they roommates?`

"OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES."

`| >fre sh a vaca do?`

"Yes! Nice memes, Held-chan."

He remembers who you are!

`| >you spilled wajdnsksnsksn lipstick in my valentino white bag?`

He parrots back, imitating a suburban white mom.

`| >in front of my salad?`

"OH DEAR GOD."

`| >does ya boy get his free taco?`

He pretends to slip on a skateboard.

`| >what are you here for again`

He suddenly turns solemn.

"I... don't really know, desu. Gomen."

`| >i love you, bitch, aint never gonna stop lovin you, bitch`

He pretends to strum on a guitar.

"Hahaha! You're so funny today, Held-chan! Not uptight anymore!"

He pauses for a bit.

"I love you, too!"

`| >don't -chan me. i accept nothing less than -sensei`

You do so, in a bit of a stiff manner, as per your usual demeanor.

"Awww, you're no fun. Fine then, Held-sensei. It's almost like we're not friends."

`| >bara or prettyboys?`

"What an odd question! Why not both? Although if you ask me, I like bara better. Those muscles... Itadakimasu!!"

`| >nod as if you understand. wakaru (wakaru)`

You do so.

"I know you're not actually following, Held-sensei. But that's okay!!"

`| >seyanaaaa`

You mutter aloud a name that you vaguely recall.

He makes this face:

8D

`| > my name is michael with a B, and ive been afraid of insects my whole life`

“...Ha ha ha.”

He laughs a hollow, melancholy laugh. With all his memories coming back, there must be something on his mind.

`| > johnny has 19 bottles of dish soap,`

“I’m not really in the mood for math problems right now. Although you do seem like the kind of person to hoard 29 watermelons in their car, ha ha.”

`| >oh shit seth u okay bb?`

“I just... remembered.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Your daughter... we couldn’t save her, could we?”

`| >"....." "you're making progress"`

"Ah, my memories... they're coming back. What's all this, anyway?"

"You wanted a body, remember? With arms and everything."

`| >do you like your arms?  
| >and your... everything?`

"I... I do. I do like them."

`| >continue observing`

He continues to talk, unaware that you've gotten quiet.

"I'd wanted arms. I'd wanted a body, to experience the world as a 'human' rather than a 'mask with a will'. A mere helper tool - that's something I didn't want to live out for the rest of my life. I... I wanted friends."

`| >ill be your friend  
| >friends is good`

"Friends are good to have," you muse, thinking of Gilles and Luna. "I'll be your friend."

"Really? Th-thats... really nice." Seth says, wiping a tear.

`| >wanna put your arms to good use?  
| >hug time`

You come in for a hug. Seth reciprocates. It's quite warm.

The timer rings, and you recall that visiting hours are over. You bid Seth goodbye, and tell him you'll be back tomorrow to pick him up. The fact that he's got his memories back means he can be transferred back to his old apartment.

**End**


End file.
